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"Hounds of the Unholy"
"Hounds of the Unholy"
9/23/2005
I.
This was not even a hurricane, thought Bane as he made his way down the sidewalk, "just" a tropical storm. Yet he could not see the buildings across the street. The wind was gusting at fifty miles per hour, making the rain pour horizontally at times. Bane had the visor of his helmet down so he was breathing through the built-in filters, otherwise he would be taking water up his nose. He reached up to the controls on the side ear pod and adjusted the light amplifiers. There was no traffic, which was fine with him. Was Florida like this often? Why would old people come here to retire?
In his black field suit, with the visor down on his helmet, Jeremy Bane was almost invisible in the downpour. He was comfortable enough, staying dry inside a suit designed to protect against extremes worse than this, but he was uneasy over the situation that had brought him here. Why had George Hanlon called him for help? They had never met. Bane vaguely remembered hearing the man's name as a collector of mystic talismans and paraphenalia... there had once been an exhibition of his collection at the Metropolitan Museum of Art but Bane had not been able to go see it. Why the urgent phone call to come see him, then? Ah well, thought Bane, I do have a reputation in the Midnight War and most likely Hanlon had just decided on me because of that.
The Dire Wolf was walking through a residential area on the edge of town, with small low-built houses and good-sized yards. To his right was a wooden fence in need of some repairs. Just ahead, the road ended and there stood a three-story Victorian-style house with an attached garage. One light burned over the front door. A sudden gust of wind broke off a tree branch and sent it skittering across the road. Bane walked quicker, reaching the house and looking around with his innate suspicion. He seriously doubted if anyone could see him from inside the house in the gloom and the heavy rain, but he decided to do a quick circle. Getting close, he made his way around the building, looking for anything out of place. At the back of the house, where a flagstone path led to a shed, he thought he heard something, and he flattened with his back against the wall to listen.
The next few seconds were an explosion of movement. Two opponents appeared, seemingly from nowhere, each holding one of his arms and yanking him forward. Even taken completely by surprise, Bane's training and reflexes took over. He kicked the legs out from under the enemy on his right, spilling him on the ground, and breaking loose; in the same motion, he did a vicious hip throw that spun the enemy on his left down hard into the dirt. His opponents were tough and persistent. They were up again and coming at him. Bane clocked one right in the center of the face with a straight punch that would be fatal to a normal person it hit. The enemy reeled back, Bane swung and smacked a lightning backfist that sent the other in a loose tumble to the ground.
He had only a second to get his bearings. Bane was baffled by the way these men had seemed to come through the walls of the the house itself to grab him. It had to be a trick. Then he focussed on the attackers and realized they were not Human. In the bare instant before they attacked again, he saw that they were manlike, about six feet tall, gaunt and bony with a leathery hide and doglike heads. They came at him, and the Dire Wolf met them with full power blows such as he seldom let fly. He kept knocking them down, but punches which would break the skulls of human opponents seemed to barely drive them back. One managed to get hold of his arm and gnawed at it with his long fangs, but the Dire Wolf pounded him five times in half a second and the brute sagged to the ground.
The other leaped upon him. Bane flung him off and down hard to the ground with an aikido throw. Fighting in this rain was not the easiest thing. Both brutes rolled over to get up again. They looked something like the Kulan of Fanedral, but without wings. The dog-headed creatures snarled and seperated to come at him from different sides. Behind the visor of his helmet, Bane had a predatory grin. He was enjoying this.
Then a big human form dropped from high above, landing with knees bent. His feet cracked the flagstone path where he hit. He stood upright, well over six feet tall, powerfully built with well defined muscles that stood out under the simple white T-shirt and black jeans he wore. The man had a craggy, rough-hewn face with deepset dark eyes under heavy brows and unruly thick black hair. One of the dogheaded brutes leaped at him, and the newcomer threw a single punch that sounded like a gun going off. The creature's head flew apart at that impact. The man shook gore off his fist and turned as the other monster growled and leaped. Again, he threw just one punch, so powerful that his arm went through the chest of the brute and he had to tug the corpse off. Shaking his arm in the rain to clean it, the newcomer chuckled.
Bane had raised the visor of his helmet. "Sulak? It IS you! Sulak!"
II.
The two men embraced briefly in a black-slapping moment. Even in the cold rain, they laughed. "I didn't think I'd ever run into you again," Bane said. "In Florida, of all places. It has been years."
"Indeed," said Sulak. "Let us step up onto this porch, Jeremy. We have much to say, but as usual, there is little time."
The Dire Wolf pointed at the two bodies on the lawn. "You know what they are?"
"They are called Engalekim. They are from my realm of Androval, but I personally never saw one before. Rarely are the Hounds of the Unholy called out. I hope you don't mind my butting in on your fight, Dire Wolf."
"Not at all. They were getting on my nerves. I was about to pull out the daggers and skin them. Listen, Sulak. I came here because the man in this house called me for help. The fact that these two things are here tells me we had better get inside and see what the situation is."
"Well said. And getting out of this rain is a worthy goal in itself."
Moving to the back door, Bane boldly opened it and stepped inside. Under the circumstances, he felt it better to enter quietly rather than knock and see if anyone would admit them. In the gloom, Bane's visor with its light-amplifiers let him find what he had been half-expecting, and he flicked a switch on the wall that turned on two lamps high up near the ceiling. The Dire Wolf knelt over the form of a heavyset middle-aged man lying face up on the rug. "He's got a pulse," Bane said after a second. "Breathing is steady. Turn on a couple more lights, will you?" The Wolf tugged off his helmet and bent over the unconscious man.
After a few minutes, he said, "I think he's going to be okay. Nice lump on the back of his head, no blood. Vital signs are good. Let's give him a mild stimulant." From an inner pocket of his jacket, Bane took out a small disposable syringe and jabbed the man on the inside left wrist. This administering drugs without a license just added to his lifelong list of felonies. If he somehow were charged with every law he had broken, Bane would never get out of prison.
"Let's give him a second," Bane said. He stood up. "How have you been, Sulak? Last I saw you, it was just after that bad time we had in Nekropolis. You said you had had enough of the Midnight War."
The big Melgar was aware that he was dripping water on the rug of the living room where he stood, but he saw nothing to dry himself with. "Yes. Well, that was a bitter victory. So many of us fell. We won, if you can call it that, but I had my fill of it all. I wandered for a time. I stayed in the forests and the mountains and did not wish to speak to anyone. But time passes and wounds heal, and eventually I wanted to see my family in Androval again, and then my friends in this real world."
Sulak had not visibly aged a day, of course. Even though he was more than ninety years old, he looked about thirty and would do so for years to come. The Melgar lifespan was the envy of other Races. "I have been busy," he continued. "I have learned to play the piano. Not well, but I am getting better. I now speak Polish. I can hang-glide. I spent one year in the Amazon basin, where I had never been before. What else? Oh, I have watched many of your silent movies. Buster Keaton and Douglas Fairbanks are my favorites."
"I'm glad to hear you are so well rounded," Bane replied. "I guess with a longevity of two hundred and or so years, you have time to try everything."
"Ah, but what of you, Jeremy? I can tell. You still fight the Midnight War. It is what you were born for. You are meant for one purpose and you do it well. It is not by chance your war name is Dire Wolf."
"Yes. I guess you're right," Bane answered. "I tried going to casinos and museums and art galleries and nearly went crazy with boredom. I can't sit still. Maybe it's my curse but I need action."
The big Melgar frowned, his heavy brows lowering over his eyes. "Hear me, Jeremy. These are my words. It is no curse that drives you to seek conflict. It is duty. You were born to fight, so that others may live in peace and never fear the menaces which you destroy. Any other life would be a waste of your gift."
"Well... If you put it that way," said Bane. "You're right. I love trouble."
As he spoke, the man on the floor groaned and stirred. Bane knelt beside him. "Easy, buddy. Take it slow. You got a sweet crack on the head from behind. Don't try to sit up. Listen, is your name George Hanlon?"
Barely audible, the middle-aged man said it was. He got his eyes open in slits. "Jeremy Bane? Is that you?"
"How do you know me, mister?"
"You don't remember? Well, it was a long time ago." He managed to get up on his elbows. "I'm going to throw up. Get something. No, wait, I'm okay. I worked with Kenneth Dred on a series of articles. This would be around 1979? You were there as his assistant."
Bane remembered Hanlon now. "Sure. You and Mr Dred spent a whole weekend on the typewriters." He helped the man get into a chair. Sulak helpfully brought a glass of water from the kitchen. As Hanlon sipped it painfully, the Dire Wolf checked out the living room. It was filled with debris.. shelves crammed with books and papers, masks and swords on the walls, glass-doored cabinets holding tiny idols, amulets, animal bones. After a few seconds, he judged that most of it was junk as far as the Midnight War went. These were items anyone interested in the occult may amass, but nothing related to the real secret worlds Bane knew.
Hanlon moaned and touched the back of his own head gingerly. "What happened? Who hit me?"
"I was hoping you could tell us," Bane said. "Why did you call me here?"
"These things have been following me. I see them at the windows, in the yard, lurking in alleyways as I pass. Like men, but with the heads of hounds! They get closer all the time. No one else sees them. The police told me to go on medication. But I found their footprints outside. Today, one was rattling the front door. I remembered you. After Kenneth died, I saw mention of you in the New York papers as a sort of ghostbuster. They said the police called you in to capture Samhain. You fought Wu Lung, Karl Eldritch. I thought, if anyone can help me, it would be you."
Bane put a reassuring hand on the older man's shoulder, a rare gesture for him. "Listen. You're not crazy. Those monsters were real. Two of them are outside now. No, don't get up. They're dead. My friend Sulak here took care of them."
"What? Sulak?" Hanlon bugged his eyes out. "You?"
"Hah! Absolutely," said the big man. "I am Sulak of Androval, Champion of the Melgarin, knight of Tel Shai and former member of the Kenneth Dred Foundation. There is only one."
"Thank God," Hanlon breathed and sagged back in his chair. "With Jeremy Bane and Sulak in my house, what do I have to be afraid of?"
Bane was peering out the windows at the storm. "Mr Hanlon, do you have something valuable here that these demons want? Something from Androval, perhaps?"
But it was Sulak who answered. "Here in this house is the Eight-Sided Shield! It was stolen from our armory and has passed through many hands. I know you bought it in good faith, Human, and paid a fair price. But the man who sold it to you had no right to it. It is Melgar property." He turned to Bane. "In fact, Jeremy, it is one of the talismans of Malberon. As you know, Malberon forged many potent talismans at the beginning of the world. Most were devised to defend Androval. One you may not know of is not a weapon, but a defense. The Eight-Sided Shield disperses even the worst gralic blast. Scholars believe it could have withstood a blow from even Hellspawn itself. Even more importantly, he who bears this Shield can not be coerced by any spell or form of mind control. For ages, our Kings and Queens have held this Shield while taking oaths and making judgements."
III.
Still at the window, Bane said, "I think I see something by the woods. Quick, what do the dogheaded guys have to do with it?"
"The Hounds of the Unholy? They have been sent by a warlock of Androval to fetch the shield before I could. In truth, I know who it is, and when I return home, we shall have words."
"Definitely more out there," Bane said as he put his helmet back on. Lowering the visor with a click, he headed for the door. "Sulak, let's clean them out."
The big Melgar raised a finger at Hanlon. "Stay here," he said unnecessarily.
Out in the downpour again, Bane drew the silver-bladed daggers from their sheaths on his forearms. "Let me take the back of the house and you go around to the front, what do you say?"
"Fair words, captain. I think I see easily a half dozen of these curs creeping across the grounds." With that, Sulak walked alongside the house. A few seconds later, there was a sharp cracking noise and an Engalek went flying by upside down in the dirt. Bane smiled grimly and waited as the dogheaded brutes suddenly rushed him. The Dire Wolf met them with a glittering arc of silver as he cut them down. His daggers had been ensorcelled by the Eldarin themselves and few creatures of the night could defy their edges. Tough as the Hounds were, against those daggers they went down. Bane was never still an instant, swinging both arms in smooth accurate circles that drove the blades deep into leathery chests or straight across throats. With his feet and hands alone, the Dire Wolf was dangerous enough to take any foe; with the silver daggers, he was just death looking for a place to strike.
Only two of the brutes remained. One of the Hounds of the Unholy tried rushed around behind the Dire Wolf, and Bane caught him with a high crescent kick. The beast went sprawling. Bane hesitated. It was one thing to kill an enemy who was actually attacking. There was an element of self-defense involved. But he had never liked simply slaying an opponent who was down, no matter how justified. The dogheaded demon did not get up right away, and Bane stepped closer. Suddenly he sheathed his daggers and threw a wicked left cross that connected perfectly. The beast fell limp to the ground.
Bane straightened. It was a weird sight, all these unhuman bodies strewn around the yard, cold rain falling to wash away the thick black blood. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught an Engalek moving on the side of the house and he raced to catch it. One of the demons stood by a window that had been forced open, and another was struggling into the house through it. Bane plunged forward. The dogheaded brute tackled him, trying to bring him to the ground. Bane caught the demon by a wrist and yanked the arm out straight. He brought his free fist down like a hammer, breaking the demon's elbow with an audible crunch.
Flinging the agonized brute aside, Bane jumped to the window and scrambled through. One of the Hounds would only need a few seconds to kill George Hanlon.
Inside the living room, Bane paused and chuckled. The demon was pounding uselessly on a large metal shield behind which Hanlon crouched in terror. The shield had the emblem of a running horse etched on its surface. A few seconds later, Sulak entered through the front door and laughed out loud, "Of course! The Eight-Sided Shield. With its protection, our Human friend is in no danger." He stepped forward and gave the Engalek a casual slap that sent the demon crashing across the room, to knock over a bookcase and lie dead on the floor.
George Hanlon lowered the heavy shield, and looked around anxiously. "It seemed... I thought, I have the shield here, why not use it? And a good thing I did!"
"We are not done yet," Bane said quietly. He moved around the living room, seeming to listen for something. After a moment, he crept up the stairs to the second floor, motioning the others to be silent. Sulak and Hanlon exchanged a puzzled look. After a minute, there was the sound of a scuffle, two crisp smacking noises and a man came tumbling down the stairs to sprawl unconscious at the bottom. He was a thin, elderly man with a short white beard. He wore a plain dark tunic and leggings, with a heavy cloak hanging from a mantle across his shoulders.
"Engal the Elder!" roared Sulak. "The very warlock I spoke of before. He is a shame and a disgrace to our nation." He looked up as Bane came down the stairs. "Jeremy! How did you know he was up there?"
The Dire Wolf removed his helmet and smiled at his old comrade. "I was thinking about it during the fight. Who knocked out Hanlon? Not one of the demons, surely they would have killed him. It had to be a human or more accurately, a Melgar. And the shield was still here, so he hadn't got hold of it and was likely still in the house. Maybe he was waiting for us to leave so he could conk Hanlon again, more permanently the second time."
Sulak seized the warlock by the cloak. "You dealt him a fair blow, captain. I think he will wake back in our realm barely in time to face the magistrates. And, Mr Hanlon, I must claim this shield as well."
"Take it!" cried George Hanlon, plopping down into a chair. "Look at how much trouble it got me into!"
3/10/2013
9/23/2005
I.
This was not even a hurricane, thought Bane as he made his way down the sidewalk, "just" a tropical storm. Yet he could not see the buildings across the street. The wind was gusting at fifty miles per hour, making the rain pour horizontally at times. Bane had the visor of his helmet down so he was breathing through the built-in filters, otherwise he would be taking water up his nose. He reached up to the controls on the side ear pod and adjusted the light amplifiers. There was no traffic, which was fine with him. Was Florida like this often? Why would old people come here to retire?
In his black field suit, with the visor down on his helmet, Jeremy Bane was almost invisible in the downpour. He was comfortable enough, staying dry inside a suit designed to protect against extremes worse than this, but he was uneasy over the situation that had brought him here. Why had George Hanlon called him for help? They had never met. Bane vaguely remembered hearing the man's name as a collector of mystic talismans and paraphenalia... there had once been an exhibition of his collection at the Metropolitan Museum of Art but Bane had not been able to go see it. Why the urgent phone call to come see him, then? Ah well, thought Bane, I do have a reputation in the Midnight War and most likely Hanlon had just decided on me because of that.
The Dire Wolf was walking through a residential area on the edge of town, with small low-built houses and good-sized yards. To his right was a wooden fence in need of some repairs. Just ahead, the road ended and there stood a three-story Victorian-style house with an attached garage. One light burned over the front door. A sudden gust of wind broke off a tree branch and sent it skittering across the road. Bane walked quicker, reaching the house and looking around with his innate suspicion. He seriously doubted if anyone could see him from inside the house in the gloom and the heavy rain, but he decided to do a quick circle. Getting close, he made his way around the building, looking for anything out of place. At the back of the house, where a flagstone path led to a shed, he thought he heard something, and he flattened with his back against the wall to listen.
The next few seconds were an explosion of movement. Two opponents appeared, seemingly from nowhere, each holding one of his arms and yanking him forward. Even taken completely by surprise, Bane's training and reflexes took over. He kicked the legs out from under the enemy on his right, spilling him on the ground, and breaking loose; in the same motion, he did a vicious hip throw that spun the enemy on his left down hard into the dirt. His opponents were tough and persistent. They were up again and coming at him. Bane clocked one right in the center of the face with a straight punch that would be fatal to a normal person it hit. The enemy reeled back, Bane swung and smacked a lightning backfist that sent the other in a loose tumble to the ground.
He had only a second to get his bearings. Bane was baffled by the way these men had seemed to come through the walls of the the house itself to grab him. It had to be a trick. Then he focussed on the attackers and realized they were not Human. In the bare instant before they attacked again, he saw that they were manlike, about six feet tall, gaunt and bony with a leathery hide and doglike heads. They came at him, and the Dire Wolf met them with full power blows such as he seldom let fly. He kept knocking them down, but punches which would break the skulls of human opponents seemed to barely drive them back. One managed to get hold of his arm and gnawed at it with his long fangs, but the Dire Wolf pounded him five times in half a second and the brute sagged to the ground.
The other leaped upon him. Bane flung him off and down hard to the ground with an aikido throw. Fighting in this rain was not the easiest thing. Both brutes rolled over to get up again. They looked something like the Kulan of Fanedral, but without wings. The dog-headed creatures snarled and seperated to come at him from different sides. Behind the visor of his helmet, Bane had a predatory grin. He was enjoying this.
Then a big human form dropped from high above, landing with knees bent. His feet cracked the flagstone path where he hit. He stood upright, well over six feet tall, powerfully built with well defined muscles that stood out under the simple white T-shirt and black jeans he wore. The man had a craggy, rough-hewn face with deepset dark eyes under heavy brows and unruly thick black hair. One of the dogheaded brutes leaped at him, and the newcomer threw a single punch that sounded like a gun going off. The creature's head flew apart at that impact. The man shook gore off his fist and turned as the other monster growled and leaped. Again, he threw just one punch, so powerful that his arm went through the chest of the brute and he had to tug the corpse off. Shaking his arm in the rain to clean it, the newcomer chuckled.
Bane had raised the visor of his helmet. "Sulak? It IS you! Sulak!"
II.
The two men embraced briefly in a black-slapping moment. Even in the cold rain, they laughed. "I didn't think I'd ever run into you again," Bane said. "In Florida, of all places. It has been years."
"Indeed," said Sulak. "Let us step up onto this porch, Jeremy. We have much to say, but as usual, there is little time."
The Dire Wolf pointed at the two bodies on the lawn. "You know what they are?"
"They are called Engalekim. They are from my realm of Androval, but I personally never saw one before. Rarely are the Hounds of the Unholy called out. I hope you don't mind my butting in on your fight, Dire Wolf."
"Not at all. They were getting on my nerves. I was about to pull out the daggers and skin them. Listen, Sulak. I came here because the man in this house called me for help. The fact that these two things are here tells me we had better get inside and see what the situation is."
"Well said. And getting out of this rain is a worthy goal in itself."
Moving to the back door, Bane boldly opened it and stepped inside. Under the circumstances, he felt it better to enter quietly rather than knock and see if anyone would admit them. In the gloom, Bane's visor with its light-amplifiers let him find what he had been half-expecting, and he flicked a switch on the wall that turned on two lamps high up near the ceiling. The Dire Wolf knelt over the form of a heavyset middle-aged man lying face up on the rug. "He's got a pulse," Bane said after a second. "Breathing is steady. Turn on a couple more lights, will you?" The Wolf tugged off his helmet and bent over the unconscious man.
After a few minutes, he said, "I think he's going to be okay. Nice lump on the back of his head, no blood. Vital signs are good. Let's give him a mild stimulant." From an inner pocket of his jacket, Bane took out a small disposable syringe and jabbed the man on the inside left wrist. This administering drugs without a license just added to his lifelong list of felonies. If he somehow were charged with every law he had broken, Bane would never get out of prison.
"Let's give him a second," Bane said. He stood up. "How have you been, Sulak? Last I saw you, it was just after that bad time we had in Nekropolis. You said you had had enough of the Midnight War."
The big Melgar was aware that he was dripping water on the rug of the living room where he stood, but he saw nothing to dry himself with. "Yes. Well, that was a bitter victory. So many of us fell. We won, if you can call it that, but I had my fill of it all. I wandered for a time. I stayed in the forests and the mountains and did not wish to speak to anyone. But time passes and wounds heal, and eventually I wanted to see my family in Androval again, and then my friends in this real world."
Sulak had not visibly aged a day, of course. Even though he was more than ninety years old, he looked about thirty and would do so for years to come. The Melgar lifespan was the envy of other Races. "I have been busy," he continued. "I have learned to play the piano. Not well, but I am getting better. I now speak Polish. I can hang-glide. I spent one year in the Amazon basin, where I had never been before. What else? Oh, I have watched many of your silent movies. Buster Keaton and Douglas Fairbanks are my favorites."
"I'm glad to hear you are so well rounded," Bane replied. "I guess with a longevity of two hundred and or so years, you have time to try everything."
"Ah, but what of you, Jeremy? I can tell. You still fight the Midnight War. It is what you were born for. You are meant for one purpose and you do it well. It is not by chance your war name is Dire Wolf."
"Yes. I guess you're right," Bane answered. "I tried going to casinos and museums and art galleries and nearly went crazy with boredom. I can't sit still. Maybe it's my curse but I need action."
The big Melgar frowned, his heavy brows lowering over his eyes. "Hear me, Jeremy. These are my words. It is no curse that drives you to seek conflict. It is duty. You were born to fight, so that others may live in peace and never fear the menaces which you destroy. Any other life would be a waste of your gift."
"Well... If you put it that way," said Bane. "You're right. I love trouble."
As he spoke, the man on the floor groaned and stirred. Bane knelt beside him. "Easy, buddy. Take it slow. You got a sweet crack on the head from behind. Don't try to sit up. Listen, is your name George Hanlon?"
Barely audible, the middle-aged man said it was. He got his eyes open in slits. "Jeremy Bane? Is that you?"
"How do you know me, mister?"
"You don't remember? Well, it was a long time ago." He managed to get up on his elbows. "I'm going to throw up. Get something. No, wait, I'm okay. I worked with Kenneth Dred on a series of articles. This would be around 1979? You were there as his assistant."
Bane remembered Hanlon now. "Sure. You and Mr Dred spent a whole weekend on the typewriters." He helped the man get into a chair. Sulak helpfully brought a glass of water from the kitchen. As Hanlon sipped it painfully, the Dire Wolf checked out the living room. It was filled with debris.. shelves crammed with books and papers, masks and swords on the walls, glass-doored cabinets holding tiny idols, amulets, animal bones. After a few seconds, he judged that most of it was junk as far as the Midnight War went. These were items anyone interested in the occult may amass, but nothing related to the real secret worlds Bane knew.
Hanlon moaned and touched the back of his own head gingerly. "What happened? Who hit me?"
"I was hoping you could tell us," Bane said. "Why did you call me here?"
"These things have been following me. I see them at the windows, in the yard, lurking in alleyways as I pass. Like men, but with the heads of hounds! They get closer all the time. No one else sees them. The police told me to go on medication. But I found their footprints outside. Today, one was rattling the front door. I remembered you. After Kenneth died, I saw mention of you in the New York papers as a sort of ghostbuster. They said the police called you in to capture Samhain. You fought Wu Lung, Karl Eldritch. I thought, if anyone can help me, it would be you."
Bane put a reassuring hand on the older man's shoulder, a rare gesture for him. "Listen. You're not crazy. Those monsters were real. Two of them are outside now. No, don't get up. They're dead. My friend Sulak here took care of them."
"What? Sulak?" Hanlon bugged his eyes out. "You?"
"Hah! Absolutely," said the big man. "I am Sulak of Androval, Champion of the Melgarin, knight of Tel Shai and former member of the Kenneth Dred Foundation. There is only one."
"Thank God," Hanlon breathed and sagged back in his chair. "With Jeremy Bane and Sulak in my house, what do I have to be afraid of?"
Bane was peering out the windows at the storm. "Mr Hanlon, do you have something valuable here that these demons want? Something from Androval, perhaps?"
But it was Sulak who answered. "Here in this house is the Eight-Sided Shield! It was stolen from our armory and has passed through many hands. I know you bought it in good faith, Human, and paid a fair price. But the man who sold it to you had no right to it. It is Melgar property." He turned to Bane. "In fact, Jeremy, it is one of the talismans of Malberon. As you know, Malberon forged many potent talismans at the beginning of the world. Most were devised to defend Androval. One you may not know of is not a weapon, but a defense. The Eight-Sided Shield disperses even the worst gralic blast. Scholars believe it could have withstood a blow from even Hellspawn itself. Even more importantly, he who bears this Shield can not be coerced by any spell or form of mind control. For ages, our Kings and Queens have held this Shield while taking oaths and making judgements."
III.
Still at the window, Bane said, "I think I see something by the woods. Quick, what do the dogheaded guys have to do with it?"
"The Hounds of the Unholy? They have been sent by a warlock of Androval to fetch the shield before I could. In truth, I know who it is, and when I return home, we shall have words."
"Definitely more out there," Bane said as he put his helmet back on. Lowering the visor with a click, he headed for the door. "Sulak, let's clean them out."
The big Melgar raised a finger at Hanlon. "Stay here," he said unnecessarily.
Out in the downpour again, Bane drew the silver-bladed daggers from their sheaths on his forearms. "Let me take the back of the house and you go around to the front, what do you say?"
"Fair words, captain. I think I see easily a half dozen of these curs creeping across the grounds." With that, Sulak walked alongside the house. A few seconds later, there was a sharp cracking noise and an Engalek went flying by upside down in the dirt. Bane smiled grimly and waited as the dogheaded brutes suddenly rushed him. The Dire Wolf met them with a glittering arc of silver as he cut them down. His daggers had been ensorcelled by the Eldarin themselves and few creatures of the night could defy their edges. Tough as the Hounds were, against those daggers they went down. Bane was never still an instant, swinging both arms in smooth accurate circles that drove the blades deep into leathery chests or straight across throats. With his feet and hands alone, the Dire Wolf was dangerous enough to take any foe; with the silver daggers, he was just death looking for a place to strike.
Only two of the brutes remained. One of the Hounds of the Unholy tried rushed around behind the Dire Wolf, and Bane caught him with a high crescent kick. The beast went sprawling. Bane hesitated. It was one thing to kill an enemy who was actually attacking. There was an element of self-defense involved. But he had never liked simply slaying an opponent who was down, no matter how justified. The dogheaded demon did not get up right away, and Bane stepped closer. Suddenly he sheathed his daggers and threw a wicked left cross that connected perfectly. The beast fell limp to the ground.
Bane straightened. It was a weird sight, all these unhuman bodies strewn around the yard, cold rain falling to wash away the thick black blood. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught an Engalek moving on the side of the house and he raced to catch it. One of the demons stood by a window that had been forced open, and another was struggling into the house through it. Bane plunged forward. The dogheaded brute tackled him, trying to bring him to the ground. Bane caught the demon by a wrist and yanked the arm out straight. He brought his free fist down like a hammer, breaking the demon's elbow with an audible crunch.
Flinging the agonized brute aside, Bane jumped to the window and scrambled through. One of the Hounds would only need a few seconds to kill George Hanlon.
Inside the living room, Bane paused and chuckled. The demon was pounding uselessly on a large metal shield behind which Hanlon crouched in terror. The shield had the emblem of a running horse etched on its surface. A few seconds later, Sulak entered through the front door and laughed out loud, "Of course! The Eight-Sided Shield. With its protection, our Human friend is in no danger." He stepped forward and gave the Engalek a casual slap that sent the demon crashing across the room, to knock over a bookcase and lie dead on the floor.
George Hanlon lowered the heavy shield, and looked around anxiously. "It seemed... I thought, I have the shield here, why not use it? And a good thing I did!"
"We are not done yet," Bane said quietly. He moved around the living room, seeming to listen for something. After a moment, he crept up the stairs to the second floor, motioning the others to be silent. Sulak and Hanlon exchanged a puzzled look. After a minute, there was the sound of a scuffle, two crisp smacking noises and a man came tumbling down the stairs to sprawl unconscious at the bottom. He was a thin, elderly man with a short white beard. He wore a plain dark tunic and leggings, with a heavy cloak hanging from a mantle across his shoulders.
"Engal the Elder!" roared Sulak. "The very warlock I spoke of before. He is a shame and a disgrace to our nation." He looked up as Bane came down the stairs. "Jeremy! How did you know he was up there?"
The Dire Wolf removed his helmet and smiled at his old comrade. "I was thinking about it during the fight. Who knocked out Hanlon? Not one of the demons, surely they would have killed him. It had to be a human or more accurately, a Melgar. And the shield was still here, so he hadn't got hold of it and was likely still in the house. Maybe he was waiting for us to leave so he could conk Hanlon again, more permanently the second time."
Sulak seized the warlock by the cloak. "You dealt him a fair blow, captain. I think he will wake back in our realm barely in time to face the magistrates. And, Mr Hanlon, I must claim this shield as well."
"Take it!" cried George Hanlon, plopping down into a chair. "Look at how much trouble it got me into!"
3/10/2013